REM
by Sting-like-a-Bri
Summary: Chapter 8: The world of dreams is a haunting reality. ON HIATUS UNTIL JANUARY 2009
1. Have Gravity, Will Fall

Summary: Look I don't go hanging around people's basements for fun, but unfortunately, I don't really have a say in this. Just show me the nearest payphone and- wait- where am I?

This fanfiction follows the end of book five and onward (after Rand takes Caemlyn, basically.)

Disclaimer: I own my OC and the alternativeness of this plotline. Everything else belongs to Robert Jordan. No wooden crates were harmed in the making of this fic.

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CHAPTER ONE- Have Gravity, Will Fall

(OC first person POV)

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Around the time I regain consciousness, I thought that I was tied up in some backroom of a bar that my friends had probably dumped me in as a prank. The only things in my line of sight are a grey stone ceiling and an edge of the wooden crate I currently occupy. But thankfully, I soon find that I am not tied up, but stuck. And sort of paralyzed. I feel really sore, and it's probably a good thing that I don't remember what had happened at my friend's house-warming party last night.

But honestly, I don't even remember drinking anything, speaking of which…there had better be water around here somewhere…

Soon I start to hear voices. I can't distinguish any familiar ones, so that doesn't help me as to deducing my whereabouts. At first, the voices occur every ten minutes or so, sounding from across the room along with the scrape of something being picked up, and then silence. Gradually, the voices come closer and more frequently. My mouth feels like it's gagged with cotton, so it will be impossible to get anyone's attention by yelling- or even move, though I was happy to discover that I am not actually paralyzed. However, my joints still feel unreasonably stiff and I just might suffocate on the dust made airborne by the movers. I can merely sit-er- lay-er- be stuck here until someone comes to my rescue, if I don't drown in dirt particles first.

Like hell if I'd let _that_ happen.

Two leg cramps and much squirming later, I find that I can get the box-thing I'm stuck in to totter. So I begin to shift despite my aches and not-too-accurate orientation to the ground. I repeat my actions until the momentum overcomes my prison's center of gravity; this happened about the same time I remembered a fundamental rule of everyday physics:

Don't upset the center of gravity, idiot.

I come crashing to the floor. I would have cursed, but my speech was still impeded to the point where all that came out was an estranged, "Dam-OW-oooaaaaahhh." With energy I didn't know I had, I stumble upright. Something slips down the side of my head; it might be blood from the fall, but right now, I can't tell. It then dons on me that though I know I should be feeling pain, I don't actually feel anything. Which is unnerving, like one of those dreams where you can breathe underwater, only not…after this I am _never_ trusting my friends with my wellbeing _ever again_. My muscles are still numb and I almost collapse a few times, but I manage to make my way toward the door. The items lining the walls and filling wooden crates briefly make me think of an Office Depot for the Middle Ages, and remind me of a historical museum I visited in the eighth grade. This confuses me as I'm not sure any historical museums exist near where I live…just how drunk _did_ I get last night? Oh well. When someone comes back, I'll ask where I am- no big deal. Three painstaking minutes later, I arrive at the door, lean against it gratefully, and wait for someone to return. Finally someone passes directly in front of me and stops.

And gasps.

And runs down the hall screaming bloody murder.

The hell lady, I didn't think I was _that_ bad looking. I try to walk after her, but some stairs I didn't see before catch my sluggish feet and I hit the floor once again. I groan and lay there. Foot falls echo in my ears and I turn my head to see two people following behind the hysterical woman. One of the figures is suddenly right beside me with a weapon- I can't see what- angled against my neck.

"Do beggars normally sleep in wetlander basements?" The question doesn't seem to be directed at me, but I think it would only be polite to explain myself. I sit up and glare at the three people. One of them looks and acts like a maid…hmmm….obviously of no importance- she can't even look at me straight anyway and is obviously the one who ran out of the room screaming. The second woman- the one with what I can now see is a dagger- is tall with blondish-red hair and is dressed in a poofy white blouse and a brown skirt. She readjusts her stance so the dagger is still level with my face- it had made a tiny slice along my collarbone while I was getting up. The third person, a man, is also tall- I mean basketball player tall- and has rusty colored hair and is dressed in a silk dress jacket. He looks like a pansy, an opinion I have to struggle to keep to myself. I commence rising onto my weakened legs.

"Look, I don't know who you guys are, but I think I got reeeeally drunk last night and I think my friends are playing a big joke on me, so if you could just point me to the nearest payphone- I'll be leaving," My voice seems odd to me, but I am too busy concentrating on leaving to care. I get two steps before several things happen at once. First, I realize that my surroundings are a bit…off from urban Dallas. Second, more than one of us notice the breeze I am feeling wasn't due to poor structural integrity and I think the maid fainted- I don't know- I am too busy dying of embarrassment myself. Third, I feel a strange sensation like two channels of electricity shooting through my body as the man grabs my arm, shouting at me to stop. Finally, everything blurs and I yelp in pain as those two bolts of lightning clash in my chest and give me a minor heart attack.

At that moment, I know the floor and I are going to become the best of friends. Again.

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Well….that wasn't exactly the best piece of literature I've ever written, but it was supposed to be from my OC's point of view and..rereads prologue dang my OC is _special_. From now on, most of my chapters will be third person. ahem Because I also tend to write first person view in present and third person view in past tense…I hope that doesn't throw anybody off, it just makes more sense to do it that way.

Sorry that there's not a lot of awesome Randlandness going on, but it will get better soon. I hope. I'm actually having to reread book five and six to get stuff down right and…I don't know if it will get into book seven but seeing as I've only read halfway through book seven I'm not sure…

I hope to get more up soon, and I do have the next couple of chapters written or at least planned out, but I would like to hear what people think before I charge ahead. :D

Read and Review! Constructive criticism and ideas welcomed!


	2. Invasion of the Body Snatchers

Summary: You know how awkward it can be walking around in shoes that aren't yours? Well try walking around in feet that aren't yours…or legs, torso, arms, and head for that matter. Chapter 2! Rater T for language and awkward situations.

I was just going to post this on during the weekend, but since I'll be busy and, hey, I already had it done, I thought I'd post it early. I hope you like it. [is praying fervently that you'll like it. Or at least find it amusing.

**BE SURE TO READ MY AUTHOR'S NOTE AT THE END OF THE CHAPTER, AS IT IS IMPORTANT.**

Disclaimer: I own my OC and the alternativeness of this plotline. Everything else belongs to Robert Jordan. No dishware was harmed in the making of this fic.

This fanfiction follows the end of book five and onwards (after Rand takes Caemlyn, basically.)

---_flashback_---

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CHAPTER TWO- Invasion of the Body Snatchers

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A figure groaned and pried open one eye, taking in the meager surroundings. It had rough wooden walls, a stone floor, and the small mattress upon which the eye's owner now rested. It was comfortably warm in the small room, and the figure's lazily followed the trail of a floating speck of dust on its path through the air. 

Red coat being the first thing seen from the doorway, Rand entered the room, glaring slightly at the dazed patient on the bed. This strange person who had appeared out of nowhere in one of the palace storerooms had hardly been in the palace an hour and was already grating on the red-haired boy's nerves. He could not yet tell if the stranger was a darkfriend or not but one thing was certain: he was connected to saidin. However, something was terribly wrong. Unless the stranger was under protection of the Dark One, his flow of saidin should not have been as pure-feeling as it had felt when Rand first came into contact with him. Small chuckles rippled across his mind, and Rand glanced quickly around the room. 

Damn it. 

That was happening more frequently now. As was the influence he had on the Pattern and his pull on the One Power. Much like what had happened earlier with the odd boy they'd found in one of the palace storerooms. When he'd reached out to grab him, a complex weave of spirit involuntarily surged from the One Power, through him, and… He could not say it conducted into the boy; it seemed more like a source already inside him reacted, and for that one moment, Rand had felt saidin untainted, totally pure- he'd also felt saidar being channeled as well. After the boy had lost consciousness, the Dragon Reborn rounded on Aviendha, furious, but she stubbornly denied Channeling and a façade of shock was, for the first time, evident on her face as she stared slack-jawed at the strange figure. The body was promptly moved to an empty servant's quarters with two Maidens begrudgingly guarding the door that had no apparent connection to the wellbeing of the Car'a'carn.

Another presence bustled into the room and he caught the stern glance Amys threw at him as she knelt beside the prone body. He wasn't sure how she'd become involved with this incident in the first place, thought he was certain Aviendha must have told all the Wise Ones about the stranger. She peered at Rand sideways and 'hmmphed.' Apparently, Rand had found the one thing to ruffle the Wise One's feathers. 

---

_"I understand the body is male," a red faced Amys retorted, "but the aura that is coming off that person is nothing but saidar."_

_Rand shook his head and gestured frantically to the unconscious form._

_"I feel saidin. Coming from _him_. Him. Saidin," the white-haired woman crossed her arms and glowered at the Car'a'carn._

_Asmodean had by then been sitting in a corner of the room, plucking away a cheeky tune, and had asked to speak to the Dragon Reborn alone. When they were out of earshot of the room, Asmodean's face was nowhere near amused._

_"It has both," the forsaken looked as if he had swallowed one of Nyneave's herbs._

_"You mean…it is possible for a man to channel saidar?" Asmodean shook his head._

_"No, that's not what I mean," he paced and ran a hand through his hair. In his flustered movements, Rand could only make out him saying 'can't believe it works.' Rand finally caught his eye and gave him a questioning look._

_"Well," Asmodean licked his lips nervously and was cut off as a maid entered the hallway._

_"M'lord. The boy is awake," the young servant curtsied stiffly and scurried off in the other direction. The older man murmured that he would explain later as they reentered the small room._

---

"Yes, yes, cry baby. Quit moaning, you're fine, you're not even hurt anywhere," Rand was brought out of his thoughts by Amys pushing a tray into the boy's lap and shooing a liveried maid away. Hearing what she said, Rand quickly scanned the boy's upper torso, expecting to see the accidental cut Aviendha had given him with her dagger. There was not even a hint of a scratch on the boy's tan chest. Had Amys healed him? The boy dug into the meal with a fury that surprised both of the other occupants of the room, and gulped down the glass of chilled raspberry wine. The noise of silverware pinging against the porcelain dishware was enough to make both the other occupants of the room wince. A Maiden abruptly poked her head in and announced a maid had arrived to retrieve the finished meal. The servant girl wrinkled her nose in disgust as she viewed the patient's ravenous eating habits, and removed the platters from the room without answering the boy's mumbled 'thanks.' Asmodean once again plucked the cheeky tune from an hour ago. Rand wasted no further time in confronting the stranger.

"How did you get into the storeroom?" the boy shrugged then held up a finger as Rand started to protest to the apathetic reply. He swallowed the last of his roll before gesturing with his arms up, apologetically. 

"I tried to tell you before, I-" the boy stopped, his face paling, "I- _ahem_-uh," he made a few more hacking sounds, his hand massaging his adam's apple, "is that- my voice!"

He jumped from the bed- the servants had obviously enough foresight to dress him in a pair of pants- and ran past Rand and Amys into the hall. As Rand, Asmodean, Amys, and the Far Dareis Mai sprinted down the hall after the frantic boy, a tendril of irrational fear crept unbidden into the back of the Car'a'carn mind. He almost tripped over himself when he realized that feeling wasn't coming from him directly. But then, who-

"A mirror, mirror…mirror!" The boy rushed to a plate of silver set upon the wall as a decorative piece and stared into it. A hand ran over extremely short hair of a brownish-rust color, a boyish tan face and brown eyes, and continued to pat all over his body as he seemed to be looking for something, but wasn't finding it, "This-this is all wrong," he whispered, a look of sheer horror engraved on his face.

Rand flinched away and began channeling, a voice in the back of his mind screaming at him, 'Destroy it! Kill it now!' He easily pushed the voice away, but was ready to kill the panic-stricken boy nonetheless. 

"How do you mean," the Dragon Reborn interrogated. The boy continued staring at his reflection and shaking his head.

"This is isn't my face- my body. I- ah- I don't look like myself at all," at this point, the boy's speech was steadily increasing in speed, as was his breathing, "I- I'm not in my body," he chuckled, completely hysterical, "I don't even look like myself."

The boy suddenly gasped.

"My body's been snatched," he whispered, sounding grave and strangely calm. Asmodean raised a speculative eyebrow.

"You mean to say, your body has been…kidnapped?" The boy nodded with fervor, his face completely solemn.

"By the body snatchers," he said once again in a whisper, his eyes shifting back and forth as if searching for some unseen predator. The Far Dareis Mai also glanced around quickly, as if the boy's accusation held merit.

"The what?" Rand had once believed no one could possibly be more ignorant and prone to believe the ridiculous than when he had first met Moiraine in Two Rivers. He now knew it was indeed possible.

"Well, supposedly they're not real, but hey, I'm currently in a body that isn't mine- I'm willing to believe any possibility as to what is going on!" This ended in a shout and the boy stood with his hand curled in fists, red faced and shaking slightly.

"I understand completely," Rand glanced curiously at Asmodean, who gestured at him to let him have a moment, "You are in an unfamiliar place, with- if I may assume- no current memory of what may have happened to you. Besides that, you are not even in a familiar body."

"Y-yeah," sighed the boy, looking both relieved and like he was going to cry. Asmodean walked up and put a hand on the boy's shoulder. He jumped a little at the contact but stayed rooted to his spot.

"What's your name?" The Forsaken pushed on in a kindly tone. Rand, for one, was greatly impressed by the man's acting ability and made a note to ask for some tutoring in that area. Who knew; it just might come in handy. The boy muttered something and Asmodean had to repeat it for the others to hear.

"Loran?" The boy looked up almost as if to protest something but instead nodded.

"Uh, yeah."

"Well, Loran. Until we find out what's happened your real body, it would be best if you stay near Rand," replied Asmodean as he gestured for Rand to come over to them. _He acts like this sort of thing happens everyday! _Rand thought furiously as he stood beside the boy. _Then again, this could very well be a trick of his. I best be cautious._ The Forsaken glanced between the two briefly with a look that said he knew something, but at the same time was unsure of his knowledge. Rand glanced at his new companion. In all honesty, Loran seemed more…well, unhinged than he did, strange voices aside. Loran's hair was extremely short, but instead of lying flat, stuck up in all directions like an unseen wind was constantly blowing it out of place. The slender shape of his eyes and face gave him a feral air, and Rand had to stop himself from stepping a pace away from the figure. The urge to leave was too great. Needing an excuse to leave, Rand turned on his heal and strode down the hall with purposeful steps.

"We will deal with this situation later," he called over his shoulder, " I have business to attend to. Natael, have a servant make up a room for Loran." 

"Most of the servants have probably run away by now, you know," The Forsaken muttered to the receding figure. He quickly stopped a servant carrying out what looked like her life's possessions and relayed his orders, glancing back at Loran once more before following the Far Dareis Mai after Rand. The servant glared at Asmodean, but after a moment of thought sighed dejectedly and hauled her belongings in the direction from which she'd just come. This left Loran and Amys alone. An awkward silence settled over the hallway. The Wise One stared openly at the rust-haired boy with a gaze that was painfully reminiscent of a butcher sizing up a fattened cow. Loran shifted his weight and pretended to find his nails increasingly interesting. 

Still more silence. _I wonder if she was an interrogator in another life._ Loran thought absently. It had barely been five minutes, but he was already willing to say anything, to tell her anything, if she would just stop staring. _Geeze, what is she, part owl? She hasn't even blinked yet._ Loran started as Amys abruptly turned and began walking away. Without looking back, she waved a hand, beckoning Loran to follow.

"Come, young one. There are some things that I want to discuss with you." Loran swallowed nervously and scurried after the brown and white clad woman, though his mind currently wanted him to sprint off in the opposite direction. An absent thought made him stop and cross his arms over his bare chest.

"Uh, can I get a shirt?"

--

Rand had dismissed his followers long before they'd reached the throne room, and he now watched Amsodean sitting with Aviendha and Mat in the gardens below. A bowl of soup sat on a tray near him, still warm. Enaila and Somara had brought it to him, the former muttering about unreliable servants and 'no sense of duty.' He had tried to eat but couldn't bring himself to finish it. It reminded him too much of Lamelle, of Pevin, of all the people that died in the taking of Caemlyn. It had been a cost that, if he had known, he would have never risked. Someone shifted beside him and he was brought back into the present. The Saldean, Davram Bashere, had come in several minutes earlier, expecting to talk with Queen Morgase. It was then that Rand realized that the cost of his fallen comrades would be in vain in he did not continue. He had made it clear to the Marshal-General that he was willing to conquer the entirety of the world to maintain the peace and accomplish what his friends today had died for. Bashere finally broke the silence.

"I suspect, that if you do pursue this endeavor, the Borderlands will opt to ally with you." Rand nodded ponderously.

"I…I myself will offer myself and my army." _So this is it_. Thought Rand numbly. _I'm going to conquer my own home._ At that moment, the irony of his thoughts did not seem at all funny.

--

"Cabinets. All these cabinets look the same and you can't even tell which one is the bloody pantry," muttered Asmodean as he searched for a bottle of wine. He finally opened one of the taller cabinets and grinned, "Aha." Suddenly, something made him turn his head. He froze and the color faded from his face.

"You? No!"

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** READ ME, I AM IMPORTANT FOR YOUR SANITY **

I just have one thing to say before people go off on me about the whole 'Loren can use both saidar and saidin' thing. THIS WILL NOT BE A MARY SUE! I hate them, personally, and I have a reason for this to happen which will be needed later on in the future (because I've actually planned that far ahead -.-;; .) I think it to be quite a clever thing I have planned up, and I hope it's something others will enjoy as well (I hope I hope I hope I hope…)

Also, this is NOT SLASH, nor will there be any type of romance except for what is already canon. (I don't do romance very well anyway :D .) 

Eh, I kinda botched the depiction of Loran's hair though…when I see him in my mind's eye, his hair is kind of like Balthier's from Final Fantasy 12…only a bit less tamer?

I had to add Rand and Bashere…but I don't have book five with me so please be nice if I botched the conversation just a little (and I probably did.) I added Asmodean's 'death' too, just to get us out of the fifth book. I kind of liked that part though…I had fun, however brief the fun, making Asmodean talk about pantries. [giggles

Read and Review Please!


	3. Amys Almighty

Rem:

Summary: Women are scary. Magical women even more so, especially when they want to run experiments on you.

Disclaimer: I own my OC and the alternativeness of this plotline. Everything else belongs to Robert Jordan.

Authors Notes are at the end of the chapter.

(thisisalinethisisalinethisisaline)

CHAPTER THREE- Amys Almighty

Loran continued to trudge behind the white-haired Aiel with arms folded across his chest, scowling miserably. He had yet to receive a shirt, and when he asked Amys for one, she had smiled and said, "Now why would a handsome young man want to cover such a fine physique?" Her tone of voice had made Loran's skin crawl. He was then quiet the rest of the way to the Palace gates. As the boy blinked his eyes to adjust them to the sunlight, he finally saw the devastated state of the city. Though the whole of the city was in better shape than the palace itself, despair hung in the atmosphere like a stench, and the silence they met was the abrupt quiet of death. They began their journey past the gates and turned off the main road that spiraled away from the palace to a side street that took them outwards in a straight line, resulting in a more prominent view of the destruction.

"Damn, this place is messed up," Loran muttered as some well-dressed but heavily bandaged denizens scurried by them.

"It was the Car'a'carn's will," murmured the Wise One.

"The candy-corn-who?" Amys shot her companion _a look_. They had stopped in small intersection of a main road that wound from the center of the city and a smaller road that ended well before it reached the palace. By now, the area was devoid of all but the occasional Aiel that scouted the rubble for both survivors and darkfriends.

"The Car'a'carn," corrected Amys, and then seeing her companion's confusion, "though wetlanders refer to him as the Dragon Reborn." Loran searched his mind for a clue as to what she might mean, and an almost forgotten memory drifted to the front of his thoughts.

"I think one of my friends was telling me about some Dragon Reborn once. It was from a new series she had started reading called….well it doesn't matter what it was called. I can't be sure though. She was always shoving books onto me to read and I've never been very interested. I kinda learned to tune her out a long time ago," _Way to be attentive, moron,_ Loran groaned to himself. _If I'd been listening, I'd probably know where the hell I am- wait. Does that mean I'm in a book? No, no, that doesn't happen to people like me; that only happens to people like me geek friends. I'm not even interested in the fantasy genre. Oh, nononononooo-_ this rather unappealing train of thought was stopped by as a small fizzle appeared in the back of his mind. It was almost not there, a tingling in the place where his head and neck met. As he concentrated on it, the fizzle turned into a cold shiver. The shiver spread down his spine and to the rest of his body. He turned slowly toward Amys.

"Holy shit! You're glowing!" Amys, whose eyes had been closed in concentration, opened them to give the rusty-haired boy another critical stare.

"You can see that," it was more of a statement than a question, but Loran nodded his head vigorously nonetheless.

"You're glowing brighter than a nuclear reactor. Of course I can see it!" He waved his hands in the air to emphasize his response.

"Nuclear….reactor?" Amys questioned, frowning. But Loran was already on another train of thought.

"Does this mean…you're magical," the boy gasped, his face a vision of absolute glee, "Are you an angel? A genie? My fairy godmother?" He fell to his knees, grasping the Wise One's skirt in desperation, "Send me home, please? Pleeease?!" An invisible force suddenly knocked Loran back and as he glanced at Amys, he could see a strange…weave that seemed to flow out of her.

"The heck was that?!"

"I do not know these things of which you speak wetlander- but you will stop this foolishness now," Amys's voice was flat and terse, and Loran could feel a wave of dread and fear wash over him. He gulped and followed quietly after the Aielwoman as she continued the journey outside of the city.

--An Hour Later--

"So, you're telling me you guys- I-I mean girls- can use magic," Loran slowly repeated the information he'd had metaphorically shoved down his throat for the past forty-five minutes or so.

"Basically, yes," another white and brown clad Wise One deadpanned. About five or six of them sat in a semicircle around Loran, owl-eyed and closely observing him like a new pet.

"And there's a male and female side to it, with the male side being…tainted?"

"Yes."

"And they go mad?"

"Yes." Loran briefly wondered how long he could go on like this before they became annoyed with him. From the way they were reacting to his obvious lack of knowledge about this world in general, you'd think interdimensional visitors happened upon their group all the time.

"And you think, for some reason, that I can use both of these?"

"If what Rand said to Amys is true, then yes," replied a younger member of the group.

"Ah," Loran replied, pinching the bridge of his nose to waylay a forming migraine. Just because the information shoving had been metaphorical did not make it hurt any less. One of the Wise Ones gestured to a figure swathed in white and the person stepped forward quietly to fill each woman's cup with a dark brown tea. A sudden movement caught his eye and he glanced once again at the dark-haired girl who'd answered his last question. What was she doing there anyway? She was obviously a foreigner among these light-haired people. Another Wise One seemed to sense his unasked question.

"This is Egwene Sedai. She has been traveling with the Car'a'carn since the beginning of his journey and is now under the tutorship of Amys and Bair," the girl blushed slightly at the blunt introduction but immediately composed herself. Despite what he'd already been told about Rand, Loran could still not believe he was the 'Dragon Reborn' or whatever they called him. He couldn't be more than a year or two older than Loran was.

"You know," began the voice that broke into Loran's thoughts, "if you could tell more about yourself, it would aid us in understanding why you are the way you are." All eyes once again turned toward him.

"Don't get me wrong, I want to tell you, but I- I don't know. It's like I remember where I'm from and about my world, but things about me personally are..blurry. Like there are holes, ya know?" The Wise Ones hmmmed and muttered among each other. Loran began shifting slowly toward the tent entrance. If he could just get a little closer, he could make a break for it. A hand gripping his shoulder made him freeze.

"Going somewhere?" Loran scowled at Amys. This woman was starting to get on his nerves.

"No," he ground out, a smile on his face that did not match the menace in his eyes.

"Good," the white-haired woman shoved him a bit more roughly than was needed back into the center of the tent.

"We have a few things we would like to make certain of before you return to the palace," Loran noticed a bit too late that he was now completely surrounded. That strange cold feeling crept down his spine again as he saw several of the women in the room begin to glow.

In the palace, Rand was looking for Asmodean to talk to him about the recent events, and to hear what the Forsaken had failed to tell him earlier that day. Suddenly, he turned to the two Maidens who were with him.

"Did you hear that?" The Far Dareis Mai looked to each other and then at him in slight confusion.

"Hear what?"

"Nothing. It's nothing," replied Rand, returning to his search. He shook his head slightly in disbelief. He was certain he had heard Loran calling for help.

(thisisalinethisisalinethisisaline)

Just to clarify one thing: Loran has never read WoT, or any fantasy books for that matter. He's a very reality oriented person, which will definitely bring up difficulties as he learns about Randland. All other mysteries about him will be revealed at their due time .

I would like to thank **theamyrlinseat** for her review and critique! Thank you again!

This chapter took place between books 5 and 6, kind of because that's the most logical place timeline-wise that I could put it in, and partly because…I still need to retrieve my book six so I can start rereading it! (I know: I stall, I procrastinate, and I'm a horrible person! >


	4. A Simple Slip, A Lovely Trip

Summary: Flashbacks are fun! Especially when they become important to the plot! Do watch your step when entering Tel'Aran'Rhiod, though.

Disclaimer: I own my OC and the alternativeness of this plotline. Everything else belongs to Robert Jordan. No mirrors were harmed in the making of this fic (they were already like that o.O .)

Authors Notes are at the end of the chapter.

--ooooooooooooooooooooooooo--

CHAPTER FOUR- A Simple Slip, A Lovely Trip

-FIRST PART- 3RD PERSON POV- RAND-

Sweat dripped down Rand's face and the area around his eyes began to burn in warning how close the salty liquid was to getting in his eyes. He brought the towel that had been set out for him to his face to blot away the sweat. Throwing the cloth down, Rand obtained his sword from where he had discarded it and once again faced his opponent. Training was a haven for Rand: one of the few times he could clear his mind and forget the complex schemes, deviant politics, and just…be. It was a time he could use to just think about, well, everything without an advisor parroting economic statistics or a noble reciting over-worded drabbles of loyalty, self-interest, and insubordination. In fact, it had been during said training sessions he had been able to plot out his plan concerning amnesty toward men who could channel and his admittedly idealistic strategy to unite them. Speaking of channelers-

His opponent lunged a sword at his left shoulder and he pivoted on his right foot, bringing his arm up to stop the opposing blade with a well-practiced Grapevine Twines and then levering his sword into Parting the Silk. The opposing sword skittered across the stone well away from the man's reach. The man bowed in a show of good sportsmanship while Rand returned the gesture, signaling that their sparring session was now over and walking to the stool to use the damp towel on his face and torso before donning his shirt. He would have to seek out more people to train with him. One-on-one was becoming too easy.

Now what had he been thinking about? Oh yes.

Despite Asmodean's suggestion, Rand had been in contact with Loran no more than three or four times since he'd first met the boy no less than two weeks ago, and all but one of those times had either been during meals or an occasional glimpse as Loran wandered the halls aimlessly or followed Amys who-knew-where.

-About A Week Ago-

_First he sensed the not-quite-his feeling of panic in the back of his mind, then heard the rapid footfalls and labored breathing, and finally saw the eccentric, sweat-drenched figure of Loran burst into the room. _Oh wonderful,_ thought Rand,_ not even a week here and he's already being chased by people…I wonder what he did. _He stared straight at the Dragon Reborn and was suddenly behind a vase that stood several paces tall and about three paces wide. Rand looked at where Loran was hidden and the top part of the boy's head poked out from where he was crouched._

_'If Amys comes in, you haven't seen me,' Rand's face furrowed in confusion but he shrugged and continued his study of the maps spread across the table. Voices outside announced the Wise One's arrival and Rand watched with growing amusement as Amys strode to the vase and pulled out a protesting Loran._

_'No way! How'd you find me?' Everyone glanced toward the still-open doors, where Enaila and Somara stood with arms crossed and a smug look on their faces._

_'No fair! You guys sold me out!' he looked at Rand pleadingly, 'Help me.'_

_'Why exactly do you need helping?' Rand asked, a small grin tugging at the edges of his mouth. Loran pointed accusingly at Amys._

_'They keep trying to run these- these experiments on me! I do exactly what they want but they're always telling me I'm not doing it right!' Rand raised an eyebrow and directed a questioning look toward Amys. At first, he thought the white-haired woman would simply walk away without so much as an explanation. But after a moment, she sighed and released Loran, who scrambled over to Rand and stood with his arms folded and face set defiantly._

_'I suppose what we are doing now is nothing more than proving water is wet. I have been trying to get the boy to use saidar,' at this she pointedly glared at the two males, 'as he does feel and sense it like a woman who can channel would. But so far, all he has done is channel saidin. It would seem…he could use saidar- as in- it was an option for him to use it- but now he cannot.' Rand's cocked his head to the side, confusion._

_'Are you saying, before I came into contact with him, there was an opportunity for him to use either saidin or saidar?' Amys nodded._

_'Egwene believes- as well as I- that because not only were you the first person to come into contact with him but you can also channel, he is able to channel saidin and not saidar. It is possible that if I or another Wise One had touched him first, he would be using saidar and not saidin,' she spoke in a tone that was almost accusatory, and Loran's defiant stance drooped slightly with what seemed to be guilt. Rand felt a twinge or sympathy for the poor boy. This brought to mind images, however ridiculous, of Aes Sedai strapping down men like him or Mazrim Taim to prod and study them like a doctor's apprentice with a cadaver. A muted laugh followed the image quickly and Rand's thoughts were momentarily interspersed with a voice urging him to 'get of them…all of them'._

_'If that is your conclusion, I suggest you refrain from forcing him to participate in such, uh,' he glanced at Loran in search of the right word, 'tests.' A brief flicker of disappointment spread across the Wise One's face but she bowed and muttered an 'As the Car'a'carn wishes.' As soon as she was gone and the doors closed with a resounding THUD, Rand grasped Loran by the shoulder._

You_ are the one that's been channeling?' he was angered by the fact that Loran had failed to ask permission, amnesty or not. His companion shrugged._

_'I don't really know what I'm doing or how I did the stuff they told me to do. The knowledge was just sort of…there, ya know?' Rand would never become accustomed to Loran's strange way of speaking, but at least his words were straight forward: a refreshing experience after a day full of nobles' word games. However, that did not lessen his frustration. Loran apparently sensed his unease._

_'Am I not supposed to channel?' Rand pushed the voice that had been steadily growing louder out of his head and rubbed his temples to try and calm his mind._

_'No, you can but- I think it may be best if you channel only when I am nearby,' _It is a plausible caution,_ he told himself_, he obviously does not know what he is doing and could injure himself. And if Asmodean- where in the Light _is_ he- thinks it is wise to put him in my charge, I might as well- it would be a responsible thing to do.

_'Cool,' Loran suddenly replied, clapping Rand on the shoulder, 'I knew you'd help me. Good man. Well, I'm gonna go- and don't worry, I'm not gonna go get myself chased by people, especially Grandma. She's _fast

_Rand choked when he heard Loran refer to Amys as a grandma, but before he could reprimand his "charge", the boy was long gone. _

-End Flashback-

Rand stopped his brisk walk down the shaded landing that followed the contour of the courtyard and stared absently at the wooden slats that ran between the shingled edge of the walkway's covering and the seam where it connected to the palace wall. Why had Loran said 'cool'? It hadn't been cool, but actually rather warm for the season. And that knowing look he'd been given when his charge promised not to be-

_Oh no._

Rand felt a chill associated with neither saidar nor the weather as he realized a fatal detail he had missed, _How did he know that? I hadn't said anything. How did he even know where I was, for that matter? He had spoken as if he'd known exactly where to find me _Rand was torn from his thoughts as a yell came from above him.

-SECOND PART- 3RD PERSON POV- LORAN-

Loran felt tired. Not in a physical sense; nor was it an emotional exhaustion. He just felt…drained. He had a pretty good reason why, though.

-Flashback-

_'Can I put it down now?'_

_'Are you sure that's the only way you can hold it up? Nothing else? No alternate- erm, pathway that you feel is available?' Loran scowled at Egwene for the thirty-eighth time that day, struggling to keep the head-sized stone level with his own head._

_'I told you once, and I'll tell you again: I don't feel anything like that,' beads of sweat were beginning to form at his hairline as he struggled to control the unfamiliar power that coursed through him. While it was an exhilarating experience each time he tapped into saidin, he wasn't used to the existence of magic, much less conditioned to use it, and was having trouble keeping how much energy he exerted in check. Egwene, who had spearheaded the last three days of tests sighed and motioned for him to stop. He let the rock drop with relief and receiving disapproving glances from the Wise One's surrounding him. He was about to walk away when a hand grabbed the back of his loose shirt._

_'Not yet, we have a ways to go yet,' Loran gestured at Amys in exasperation._

_'We've been doing this for- what- four days now. Haven't you run out of things to make me do yet?'_

_'Though we have decided you cannot and will not be using saidar anytime soon, there are a few more things we would like to make certain of.'_

_'Whatever grandma,' Loran mumbled under his breath only loud enough for the Wise One right behind him to hear. Amys's eyes widened, and then narrowed angrily. But instead of reprimanding him, she ignored his comment and began channeling. Loran watched nervously, as he could see the weaves tightening into a sphere-like apparition. Amys held the weave and approached the boy once more._

_'Now let us see what happens when we do this.'_

-End Flashback-

Loran shuddered at the memory. His pace slowed as he walked by a set of open doors. It was an empty room filled with overstuffed chairs, lacquered end tables, ornate wall hangings, and a missing chunk of ceiling and wall that was probably a result of the invasion. Rubble spilled over both sides of the wall, and a full-sized mirror in the corner had been shattered, possibly by falling debris. Though some of the furniture was covered in dust and pieces of stone, many of the chairs were clean and situated against each other in a way that labeled this room as a temporary storing space. Overcome with fatigue and a childish urge to bounce on the overstuffed cushions, Loran walked over to a love seat and curled up on the plush surface. Maybe if he just close…his eyes…for..a..minu-

He was dreaming.

He was sure he was dreaming. The room he'd fallen asleep in was half destroyed and this one was perfectly intact so therefore he _had_ to be dreaming. Loran sat up on the sofa and glanced around the room. It was eerily quiet. Everything seemed so real, and that was odd because things were supposed to be vague and surreal when you were dreaming. Right? But this felt real, very real, except, of course, for the obvious fact that walls cannot rebuild themselves in mere seconds. At first, Loran just sat there, expecting something- anything to happen and make this more dreamlike. So much for that. He continued to fidget until he realized how boring this was- was it even possible to become bored in a dream? Apparently. He stood and tied to open the doors, finding with dismay that they were locked. Instead, he surveyed the room to see what else was different. He was closely inspecting a table that he was sure had been split in two when he heard…something above him. He looked up. Nothing but the completely intact ceiling.

He waited.

And heard it again- there was someone on the roof. How he knew he wasn't sure, but the feeling settled in his stomach, refusing to leave until he satisfied the curiosity. But it was above him, probably outside, and the doors were locked. What to do, what to- ah! He strode to the windows and pushed one side open. He was on the ground level of the castle, facing the gardens of the inner courtyard. The frame of the window was weighted so it would swing shut by itself, and there was no latch on the other side Loran could see to pull to get back in. Closing the window and turning back to the room's interior, he instantly saw the solution to his problem. He pulled the full-size mirror and stepped through the window cautiously. Then, tipping the mirror so it swung horizontal on its axis, he pulled the bottom half through the window and then lowered it. He guided the window frame shut to keep from slamming, absently noting the mirror's surface was cracked and falling apart. He shrugged and focused his attention once again on the presence. There was no obvious way for him to get on top of the roof, and the urge increased. There was someone up there- there had to be! He had to go up!

Loran found himself looking down at were he had just stood a minute ago. At first, he panicked, but soon remembered that this was a dream and this sort of thing was supposed to happen. Satisfied, he began searching for the person he knew was nearby. He saw no one. Disappointed he paced along the mild slope of the courtyard covering. This was starting to be a very annoying dream and he hoped he woke up soon before- The presence returned with such force, this time from below, that Loran lost his balance. Arms pin wheeling, he frantically tried to command himself awake. _Come on, comeoncomeon! Damnit!_ He felt his weight carry him over the ledge. He screamed- and suddenly Rand was standing in the path of his fall.

--oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo--

Ooo suspense!

Yes, he was in Tel'Aran'Rhiod; a fact which deserves a big fat "DUH". Sorry if this chapter is slightly confusing…and long. This was SUPPOSED to start at the beginning of the sixth book but as I wrote it, I realized that too much time passes between books five and six so this chapter is STILL IN BETWEEN…but the next one SHALL start chapter six! (rar) Besides, I made you guys wait like, a week, so I might as well give you something, right?

Four things were revealed about Loran in this chapter! FOUR! I was only going to reveal that he couldn't use saidar in this chapter…oh well. The other three, for a quick summary, are:

-He DOES use saidin and can do stuff with it too…but he doesn't understand how he knows what do to.

-He shares a link to Rand, which explains how he found him and how he knew about Rand's thoughts. HE CAN'T ACTUALLY READ HIS MIND. But he can catch vague ideas/feelings of things, especially when they're about him. I'm guessing he saw an image of people with pitchforks chasing him and he somehow figured it was from Rand.

-He can go into Tel'Aran'Rhiod…which is important. (Write that down now, children. :D )

Maybe I should list these as we go along? I don't know, you guys tell me.

A note on a few other things:

-How is everyone character wise? Are they too OOC? Especially Amys…I took some liberty with her. (She's awesome; she and Loran are going to be beeest friends! note sarcasm)

-For the mirror, I was making a reference to the mirror Rand shatters in that weird room, when encountering the Forsaken…I think that's before the sixth book, right? If not, then it's foreboding. (I love being lazy with details. rolls eyes)

-who was the presence? It was probably that universal paranoia everyone gets when they enter the Dream World. Or it could be something else…I'm not telling.

-Loran uses modern slang and will continue to do so as A) that is how he usually speaks anyway, and B) it distinguishes him from everyone else.

A big thanks to **Ginnia** and **Viggen** who reviewed!

I should be updating in the next week or two. Hope you guys enjoy it!

Loran: Read and Review, damnit! I feel like I'm being gawked at rather than people are reading the story! So say something! Sheesh, this is the quietest fandom I've ever seen.


	5. Where Rand and Loran Have a Duel of Wits

Rem:

Summary: Who knew Rand could make a joke that not just wetlanders understood?

Disclaimer: I own my OC and the alternativeness of this plotline. Everything else belongs to Robert Jordan. No dirt was harmed in the making of this fic.

Authors notes are at the end of the chapter.

--oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo--

CHAPTER FIVE- Where Rand and Loran Have a Duel of Wits

The fall from the walkway roof was quite a disorienting experience for Loran. One minute he was tumbling head over heels down a ten-foot drop to a certain death- or, at least, a certain broken neck- and the next he was splayed over a very exhausted, very angry Rand. He tried to will away the sore feeling that was consequential to having the air knocked so forcefully out of him, and quickly glanced around the immediate area. They were lucky no one had been nearby to see the catastrophe, especially one of the Maidens. They did not seem to mind the newcomer, but he could be sure they would not hesitate to interpret his surprise entry from above as an attack on their precious Car'a'carn. He would have been dead before he even reached the ground; that was for sure. Loran glanced at his temporary cushion and, seeing the irate look on the other boy's face, felt it was time to make light of the situation- or at least distract Rand long enough to make a clear break for the courtyard entrance. He chuckled nervously.

"You saved my life, my hero!"

"Nyur crnshghin muh," Rand groaned through a mouthful of earth and grass. Loran leaned his head sideways in a sign of incomprehension.

"What?" Rand spat out the last of the dirt and attempted to face his assailant, his line of sight falling just short of Loran's foot.

"Get OFF!" As if an invisible string were tied to his back, Loran was suddenly on his feet and extending a hand to help the Dragon Reborn to his feet.

"Sorry. I'm sorry," he uttered sheepishly. Rand grabbed the offered hand and pulled just a bit harder than he needed, almost sending the two back to the ground. He swatted away the dirt that clung to him, frowning at the brown and green stains on the front of his shirt and pants. Chiarid was sure to make a joke about his rolling around in the dirt like a child if she ever caught wind of this. His side twitched in protest of being treated so roughly, and he hoped silently that being landed on wasn't enough to reopen the wound. He gave Loran a stern look while catching his breath.

"What in the Light was that?" Loran grinned timidly, looking very much like a child caught with his finger in the pudding bowl.

"Gravity? A very spiteful thing it is-"

"No!" Rand sputtered, pointing to the roof, "What were you doing up _there_?"

"In all honesty I thought I was dreaming. You literally appeared out of nowhere!" Rand had to back up to stay clear of Loran's hand gestures.

"Of course I did. Listen, from now on, I want you to tell me before you go wandering off. I would rather not come between you and your quarrel with gravity again," Rand was taken aback as Loran burst out laughing. He had meant his last comment to be sarcastic, but Loran seemed to take no offense to the rebuke.

"My 'quarrel'- hehe- that's good!" Loran slapped his comrade's back lightly, "Can't think of a good comeback for that one." Silence filled the moments after Loran's comment, and it occurred to Rand the reason he had been frozen in shock when Loran fell on him. A reason which happened to be standing in front of him with pieces of leaves sticking out of his hair. Rand lowered his voice despite the fact that no one else was present.

"A few days ago, you said something about promising you wouldn't do anything to make people chase you. You _knew _I was thinking that didn't you. You also knew exactly where I was. How? How can you know that?" Rand stopped short after noticing he had backed Loran against a tree and was two steps short of grasping the other boy by his collar and shaking him. Loran's eyes widened in remembrance and he looked away, unconsciously scratching the bridge of his nose.

"Well, I was running from Grandma- I mean Amys, and I needed somewhere I'd be able to get away from her. I knew you have at least some control over those loonies- uh- and began searching for you. And then it just…came to me- your location, that is. After that, Amys appeared around the corner and I got really panicked and took off. That's when I got this image of me being chased by a bunch of people with pitchforks and stuff, and I knew for sure it wasn't me thinking that so...um- yeah. I didn't even notice anything was off until you brought it up just now," Loran was leaning into the tree, trying to get as far away from Rand and his anger as possible. Rand crossed his arms and hung his head in thought. A tiny voice at the back of his mind muttered a soft 'kill him now, while you have the chance' and was gone before he could even push it away. He ran a hand through his hair in agitation. There were just too many voices in his head. He thought back to the different times during the past two weeks when he felt different emotions and snippets of images come unbidden to his head. There had often been times of unconscious awareness as well as periods where there hadn't even seemed to be a connection at all. The awareness of Loran seemed more like something both of them could turn off and on, which he was assuming Loran was doing now, as he could feel nothing from the other boy.

"It seems we are both affected by this. Perhaps…we can try to practice keeping our thoughts separate," mused Rand. Loran nodded enthusiastically.

"Great. Brilliant. Glad we figured that out. Now if you'll excuse me, I am going to get ready for dinner. I'll be in my room- that is, on the second floor of the palace- that is, four doors down from your room- that is, probably in the northwestern corner of the room, since that's where my closet thingie is-"

"Yes, yes, I understand," urged Rand, waving him toward the courtyard's main entryway.

"I'm just joking with ya," Loran elbowed Rand and jogged ahead, adding over his shoulder, "Lighten up a bit, okay?" Rand sighed and wiped more sweat off his face. If anything, Loran would certainly keep him on his feet. He ambled slowly back into the palace. Chiarid stood chatting with a fellow Maiden in hand-talk. She caught sight of her victim and the tanned face lit up gleefully.

"Have a good roll around in the dirt, boy?" The other Far Dareis Mai joined in with Chiarid's laughter. Rand let out a huff of air and turned determinedly in the opposite direction. Perhaps he would take the long route to his quarters.

Later that evening, as the nobility made small talk, asking Rand if his day was productive while at the same time not really caring, he was sure he heard Loran make a sound akin to holding in a sneeze followed by a low snicker and glanced casually at the boy sitting several seats down the expansive dining table. Still facing his charge as if addressing solely him, he replied that he had been most productive in drawing up new measures for maintaining Caemlyn's_ security_. As he had planned, all eyes followed his. A smirk spread across the Dragon Reborn's face. Making Loran the center of attention, Rand observed, not only brought him a much-needed break from scrutiny, but also promised to be exceedingly entertaining. _We'll just call this payback_, the Dragon Reborn thought smugly to himself. His fellow channeler had simply raised his eyebrows, still wholly focused on his food, and ignored the stares of the nobles who had until then been unaware of his existence. As soon as the courtiers began questioning as to his place under Rand's leadership, Loran scooted his chair away from the table and stood gracefully.

"If you will excuse me, Lord Dragon," he said in a manner very unlike his usual speech, "I must attend to the duties you requested of me before the reports from my _colleagues_ arrive." Hiding his surprise, Rand granted his charge leave, the other bowing deeply in respect before leaving the dining hall. He then realized the nobles still sat in earnest silence, leaning over the table and failing to notice they were dragging puffed sleeves and lacy ruffles through food-laden plates. Obviously, Loran's impromptu performance had not settled the scheming curiosities, but had instead heightened them. _That sneaky- _A thought came unbidden to his mind and he spoke the words before understanding himself what they meant.

"He is my specialty advisor, that is all," he explained in a completely disinterested voice. Amazingly, that seemed enough for the nobles, and they quickly returned to gorging themselves. However, Rand was anything but relieved. _You promised you wouldn't do that!_ He thought furiously in hopes of Loran at least feeling his perturbed stated of mind. If he did, Rand did not sense any acknowledgement.

-Somewhere in Altara-

The figure sat up with a gasp, a dark silhouette in the darker shadow of night. Moghedien put a hand to her chest, instantly feeling the cold metal of the cursed ter' angreal necklace that kept her prisoner, and reminded herself not a moment too soon to not try and channel. Her lips curled into a silent snarl. Those girls- those bitches- dared to keep her, a Forsaken, a prisoner like this? She had been humiliated day after day in this town, and today- the dark-haired woman suppressed a shiver- they had used her as a test to inspect those Severed women.

Those poor women.

Perhaps if they had not been- no, no, she would not have truly regretted what happened to them no matter who they were. Anger welled up inside Moghedien. Anger and fear. With the ter' angreal- the a'dam as those wenches called it- trapping her like this, she was powerless against the same person she had almost so easily snapped in half not so long ago. But there was nothing she could do, and she was weaker than that wilder while imprisoned like this. Luckily, none of her captors were willing to wear the other end of the ter' angreal at night, and she was free to think and feel without gaining punishment. She pushed back a lock of curled hair, rubbing sleep out of her eyes with the other hand. What was it that had awakened her? That feeling; it had been taking root in the corner of her mind for a couple weeks now, and all of a sudden… It felt so familiar- perhaps something from…before? A cold feeling spread down her face and seeped into her entire body along with a mix of dread and awe. Could it be? A hand covered her mouth as she bit back both a sob and a laugh.

--oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo—

Sadly, that's the last time we'll be hearing from Moghedien for quite a while. The only thing I have to say about her is, "Well, she obviously knows what's with Loran," and that's it (Yes, I'm a mean little authoress.) I'm just glad I finally got this thing moving into book six (well, I got to the prologue, at least.)

Soooo…do you think Loran's humor is more Aiel-like or what…I'm having trouble telling. Apparently, it took a very long time for the nobles to notice the guy who's been eating dinner with them on and off for the past month shrugs. This chapter was mostly for closure of what happened in chapter 4, as well as to get Rand and Loran interacting more. I'm still trying to decide what "specialty advisor" actually means..eh-heh.

For the next chapter, I'm hoping to get right into chapter 1 of book 6, and possibly include some of the alternate storylines (like Salidar, or Morgase, or Mat, or..uh, yeah.) I'm just afraid of those things sounding too much like quotes straight from the book, since they don't have an OC to interact with… If someone has any idea to help with that, I'd like to hear it!

Does anyone know of an alternate WOT fanfiction site that's still active? All the places I've looked up so far have been inactive for a while…

Thanks to everyone who reviewed! I really am interested in what you guys have to say about it, as some of the paths I might take with this storyline will weigh completely on what the majority of the reviewers feel, and I admittedly am in need of constructive criticism.


	6. Much Ado About Nothing Part I

Summary: And this monstrosity, ladies and gentlemen, is called a paper airplane.

Disclaimer: I own my OC and the alternativeness of this plot. Everything else belongs to Robert Jordan. Only one paper airplane was harmed in the making of this fic (It could have avoided this fate had it not flown down Arymilla's dress.)

Author's notes are at the end of the chapter.

-oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo-

CHAPTER SIX- Much Ado About Nothing- Part I

Wind that held no promise of the winter-that-should-have-been made the two flags over Caemlyn's Royal Palace flap and writhe. One flag was red with a circle divided by a sinuous line and the other bore a golden, four-legged serpent on a field of white. To some, these flags held an ominous presence; promising hope alongside despair. But to Loran, they were no more than pretty colors on a piece of fabric. Perhaps it was because he, admittedly, did not understand the history and prophecies of this land and did not really care; or perhaps it was because pictures of dragons and other strange symbols were common in his world. Either way, he was not bothered by them in the least, and thought others slightly ridiculous for being so.

Loud clacking sounds filled the courtyard and Loran propped himself up on his elbows and watched, in idle interest from his place atop the walkway's overhanging roof, the sparring that took place below. Rand was fighting five other men, lost in a dance of scuffling feet and twirling swords. _Like something out of a pirate movie_, he thought to himself, and he was at once both surprised and reassured by the return of the unexpected memory.

Small reflections of light burst every now and again from metallic dragons that twined around each of Rand's forearms, something Loran was still not used to, though he'd seen them days before. A round scar stretched and strained as Rand moved and the other boy winced every time it seemed like the skin would tear open once more. That wound did not feel right to Loran. It was much like the tainted of saidin that he felt every time Rand channeled. He considered himself lucky, as his 'flow' of saidin remained untainted. However, Rand still gave him this odd, wary look whenever he channeled that made it seem as if having no taint hinted at something evil.

He rubbed the back of his head lazily, lay back down with feet crossed and arms folded behind his head, and returned to letting the tapered flag mesmerize him with its billowing motions. Dressed in tan colored pants and a plain white shirt, (each rolled or pushed up to the knees and elbows, respectively) many of the nobles did not even notice his presence; those that did, ignored him. He preferred it that way, which was why he'd stubbornly held out against the tailor until the man promised that only one of the sets of clothing would consist of courtier's shirt, coat, and pants. This was in part to help keep Rand's fake advisor 'under the radar', as Loran said, as those who were aware of the boy's situation wished to avoid any cause for suspicions among the nobles. That and his current attire was most similar to the denim and t-shirts he was used to wearing as- as- Loran brought a fist to his forehead, tapping it lightly, and tried to remember what it was he'd so suddenly forgotten. Something about himself?

Probably.

He groaned and crossed his arms in a pout. These blanks spots in his memory were becoming irritating, especially when he was talking to Rand about his world. The moment the subject came too close to his personal memories, everything went blank. Things were starting to come back, true, but there were times when he wasn't sure what memories were new and which memories he was simply re-remembering from the day before.

"Pay them," Loran started forward as he heard what seemed to be the end of the match, "Path them all." A Maiden came forward and dropped gold coins into each of the opponents' hands, glaring openly at their swords. If there was one thing Loran was aware of in this world, it was that the people- _what did they call themselves?-_ oh right, the Aiel, though skilled warriors, refused to even touch swords if they could help it; they were even hostile against those who did use them.

Cautiously, he channeled. Rand looked directly at the sudden flow of power then covered his actions by pretending to stretch his neck as he saw it was only Loran. The nobility were already shaking in their slippers as it was- they did not need to know another channeller, even one whose power did not have the taint, was present. Not yet. Two small, cone-like weaves of air around his feet allowed Loran to leap into a nearby tree and lower himself to the ground while making a good show at climbing to throw off anyone who noticed. Using air weaves like that wasn't a trick Rand taught him, but one he'd discovered by accident. His ability to use some weaves, even some Rand did not know, and inability to even learn others was rapidly defining his range of skills as Rand taught him on occasion; they'd also learned to keep Loran well away from angreal.

-Flashback-

_"If you are insisting on following me everywhere, you might as well learn to Travel so you won't risk being left behind. You have the first part down right, but you're letting the weave drop before you can use it," the exasperation in Rand's voice was apparent as Loran attempted for what very well could have been the one-hundredth time that day to successfully Travel. The Dragon Reborn found himself wishing Asmodean were there; the Forsaken made a far better teacher than he ever could._

_"I'm trying! But as soon as I'm almost finished, something keeps unraveling it, like it's trying to stop me or something," was the whiny reply. The tone implied that unless another approach was found soon, the Dragon Reborn could forget about teaching him this particular weave. Ever. Reluctantly, Rand released saidin and stuck a hand into his pocket._

_"You seem to have the capacity to Travel, but maybe you have trouble holding enough saidin once you have the weave," he hesitated, then drew out a small figure of a man with a sword, "Try- try channeling with this."_

_"What is it?" Loran eyed it dubiously._

_"It is an angreal. It amplifies your strength in the One Power, basically." _

_At the moment Loran's hand came into contact with the small angreal, two things happened at once. First, the angreal began to hum. Soon it was jittering hard enough to make Rand's arm shake. It grew warmer and warmer until finally Rand dropped the figure with a curse when it threatened to burn his hand. It shook on the floor a few times and then stopped, a faint red color receding back into its depths as it cooled. The second thing that happened was that Loran's skin turned sickly pallor and he clapped a hand over his mouth, making a strained whimpering sound. Rushing to a window that had been left ajar to allow greater air circulation, he pushed it out the rest of the way, sicking up over the outer wall of the palace. Rand hurried to the hunched over figure, glanced out the window, and almost gagged himself. He avidly avoided the sight again as he gripped the other boy's shoulder to get his attention._

_"What happened?" He asked through the distraction of the voice babbling incessantly in the back of his mind in reaction to the backfiring angreal._

_"I don't know," the brown-eyed boy gasped. "I felt like I was gonna be torn apart," he glanced at the figurine now lying innocently on the floor with an expression of dread. "There aren't anymore things like that, are there?"_

_"Yes, why?" Loran drew his head back out the window and dry heaved._

_"Don't let me go near one _ever again._"_

-End Flashback-

A woman dressed in green practically draped herself over Rand and Loran grimaced. He knew her: Arymilla. They'd met one not-so-fateful day while he was practicing his skill with paper airplanes in the throne room. She caught sight of him and her smile vanished. He honestly didn't understand why she held such contempt for him. If her dress hadn't been cut so low, the paper airplane would have never-

"What is _he_ doing here," a voice from the crowd murmured. Usually, Loran would have ignored such a comment, but today he was feeling a bit obnoxious. He gave a sweeping bow and smiled brightly at the group.

"Good day m'Ladies, m'Lords. Lovely day isn't it?" he heard some moans and few women began taking out their fans, dabbing lightly at their faces with handkerchiefs. "Why, Lady Arymilla, that is a _lovely_ dress you're wearing," he was met with a few glares, a few chuckles- mostly from those who had learned of the 'paper glider' incident, and Arymilla's face, which contorted and turned a brilliant red as she tried to remove the light-haired boy from existence with her eyes. Rand coughed into his hand to cover a laugh. This called the attention of the nobles and Loran used the opportunity to escape.

Once inside the palace, he made his way to the Throne Room, were he had spent most of his time with Rand. He just had to leave a note for Rand 'so when something finally exploded he would know where to send the guards.' That, of course, had been Loran's vocal opinion of the rule, and though Rand had stubbornly denied that as being a reason, the dark-eyed boy stood by the image that had flashed through his head when his older companion had formally placed the rule into action. However much he teased and complained, though, he actually felt compelled to follow the order. It wasn't an aim to please or gain trust; it was like a habit or routine, something he just did everyday without much thought, but something that nagged him all day if he failed to follow through. The concept seemed similar to mind control for some reason. Loran realized this as he finished writing the note. He felt like a fool, all of a sudden.

Footsteps behind him barely registered in his mind, and in turning he was brought face to face with a man of at least thirty, a smug look on the man's face and a glint in his eye that made Loran feel as if he was in the presence of a psychopath.

"You are shorter than I was led to believe, Lord Dragon." Loran's mouth opened and closed as he attempted to think of a reply. Then he realized what the man had called him. His stare was locked with the man's eyes, the crazed gleam, and he could not look away. He was frozen, it seemed, eternally bonded to the tile beneath his bare feet. Who was this guy? Did he- did he really think-

"Huh?"

ooOO00OOoo

The torrent of saidin was both hot and cold, a river of ice beneath a skin of molten lead. It filled Rand with life, an intensity of the senses that only some dream of experiencing, yet at the same time, it tore at him from within, threatening to scourge his insides until naught was left. Through the rampage, he wove a simple thread of air, catching Bashere's arm and hand no less than three feet away from his chest. The dagger sat, useless, in the man's fist. Veiled Maidens and armed noblemen advanced on the trapped man until a resounding order for them to halt froze them as if they were also encased in saidin. Rand walked calmly to the man, who had once again seated himself, and plucked the weapon from his grip.

"If I had been an eye blink slower, " he murmured, "I'd be dead." He was no longer channeling, but rage still coiled inside him in substitution of the swirling taint, "I could kill you now, you know, and nothing, no one, would stop me."

"I am sure you could," the older man drolled, "though I'm not certain my wife would appreciate that. More likely than not, she would probably go hunting Taim again, just to spite you. The people you gather around you are both defenses against the natural," he nodded his head toward the dagger, "and the…supernatural. If anything gets past those like you, my men, or your maidens, it definitely will not be human. All I am saying is: be careful. Simple training is not worth getting your head cracked open. Besides, the day you die is day I'm bound to be run out of town by our Andoran comrades." The people in question glared at the Saldaean's comment. It was to be expected, when having to deal with foreign military, even if your leader saw friendship in them. The peace would only last as long as there was other prey to feed on; Rand yearned for the day he could fulfill his plans without their presence.

_To live you must die,_ though he'd heard the saying often, this thought was not his; nor was it Loran's, he was sure. He brought a knuckle to his temple, trying to massage the presence away. _I deserve to die. Only to die!_ Bashere was by his side in an instant, asking if his head was more injured that he'd thought. Rand quickly put his hand down; suddenly aware of the massive attention he was receiving, and replied that he was fine. He scanned the crowd for any sight of Loran; he was always good at distracting the nobles. When he saw no trace of the brown-eyed boy, he frowned. _The one time I actually need him and he runs away,_ the Dragon Reborn thought bitterly. The voice was growing stronger as he grew stronger in the use of saidin, and drawing attention to the very madness his audience feared the most was no way to solidify his status as Dragon Reborn among the wetlanders. The Aiel he had no need to worry about as they saw the marks on his arm, felt the divide he'd caused within their people, and that was more than enough to cause belief that he was car'a'carn. All he had as proof for those who called him the Dragon Reborn was the ever grow voice of what may or may not be Lews Therin in his mind, and that was enough to cause more of a panic than anything else. He vaguely heard Bashere mentioning something about needing an Aes Sedai and he retorted with a comment on trust, the words coming out of his mouth more by practice than by actually meaning it, though he did mean it anyway.

"You will need the approval of the Tower someday," Bashere commented thoughtfully, "No matter how many prophecies you fulfill, many people will still look to the Aes Sedai for guidance."

"In spite of gaining their support, I still won't avoid fighting, not now; especially since I doubt the Whitecloaks will welcome me into Amadicia with open arms under any circumstances, and Sammael won't give up Illian without a fight." Rand felt a sudden loss of weight from his shoulder and, turning, saw Arymilla fall to the ground with a thud. The rest of the crowd looked no better at the mention of the Forsaken's name. Bashere was almost glaring at him, and he gave the man an apologetic look and shrugged his shoulders slightly in a way that said, 'Hey, don't look at me'; a new habit, courtesy of Loran. While he realized such blunt comments came as a shock to most people, he preferred giving the truth and allowing people time to adjust to the news, rather than acting as an Aes Sedai and giving the truth too late for any help that may have come from learning the facts to be useful. Somara approached Rand with a shirt and coat and he dutifully put both articles of clothing on in spite of the heat. He wanted to avoid any lectures he might receive for not taking care of himself and, in a way, he owed it to them. The sound of approaching footsteps brought one of Bashere's men into the courtyard. He focused his attention on the Saldaean while the Maidens focused their attention on him.

"There is a man has presented himself at the gates," the soldier said uneasily. "He says… It is Mazrim Taim, my Lord Bashere."

--ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo--

I originally meant this chapter to end just with Loran meeting Taim, but it seemed so scrawny that I rewrote it and THEN SOME. Then, I decided I wanted to squish chapter 2 of Book 6 in as well, but I got held back by Scarborough Fair (I went last Saturday, I have a picture of me in costume on DeviantArt! Eeee!), college in general, and a strange inability to get past what you have just read- even though I already know what I want to write. Therefore, I'm splitting up chapter 6 into two parts and giving you what is already finished rather than making you guys wait until my brain stops switching trains of thought long enough to get the whole thing finished. Hopefully the second half will push the plot to the speed I want it to be going… and maybe we'll learn more about Loran and Tel'Aran'Rhiod! Ooo! I do realize I'm taking some of the wording from Book 6 verbatum. I did that on purpose for some parts, especially dialog, so as to keep a connection between the fanfiction and the book and make sure it only strays so far as Loran's presence makes it (if that makes sense at all.) I just hope I'm not following the book TOO closely. Tell me if I am so I can keep from making this just another summary of the book. I reread once I uploaded the file to make sure none of the punctuation was taken out but if you see a type, please tell me so I can fix it!

Thanks to **theamyrlinseat** for reviewing!

Here's the list so far of what we know about Loran:  
-He can use Saidin without the taint. He CANNOT use Saidar but he can sense it like a woman who channels can (I guess it's a bit like being Stilled.)  
-He and Rand share a link that sometimes communicates strong emotions or image-versions of thoughts. It can only be felt when the feeling is either very strong, the thought is about them personally, or the thought is directed towards the other intentionally.  
-He might be able to go into Tel'Aran'Rhiod  
-He CANNOT Travel, create a portal to Travel, nor use a portal created by someone else.  
-He and angreal/ter'angreal/sa'angreal act negatively when in contact with each other.


	7. Much Ado About Nothing Part II

Summary: What? It's the second part of chapter 6, it doesn't really deserve its own summary.

Disclaimer: I own my OC and the alternativeness of this plot. Everything else belongs to Robert Jordan. No OCs were harmed in the making of this fic.

Loran: Liar! You gave me a bloody nose!

Author's notes are at the end of the chapter.

-oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo-

A Flashback to the End of Part I:

_The sound of approaching footsteps brought one of Bashere's men into the courtyard. He focused his attention on the Saldaean while the Maidens focused their attention on him._

_"There is a man has presented himself at the gates," the soldier said uneasily. "He says… It is Mazrim Taim, my Lord Bashere."_

CHAPTER SIX- Much Ado About Nothing- Part II

Loran stared, mouth slightly agape, his entire body rigid in the presence of the man who stood before him in the throne room. Shock battled against outright discomfort as he fought to decide which would be better to address first: the outrageous assumption that he was the Dragon Reborn, or the unprovoked feeling of dread that emanated off this stranger. It was like standing next to someone who, while certainly not a psychopath, made you unable to think of them as anything else. The man's confident aura did nothing to help this. According to Loran's experience, all stereotypical madmen, minus the ones that had been described by Rand and Egwene (because madmen with powers didn't count, obviously), were usually harmless and perfectly content to rant their illogical babble while rocking back and forth on their little hospital beds all day long; and he could deal with the stereotype just fine. But a _confident_ madman still possessed the human drive (and sometimes, awareness) to succeed rather than just rant and thus might act on their delusion, and Loran wasn't so sure he wanted to be responsible for dealing with someone like that. Unfortunately, said madman was currently standing in front of him, hip cocked to one side, arms crossed, and an expectant expression on his face. Loran half expected him to start tapping his foot. When it was apparent Loran's thought process had failed to reach his mouth, the man shifted his weight to the other leg and his smirk dropped into a frown.

"You are the one they call the Lord Dragon, are you not? You do seem a bit different, but I suppose appearances can change in the months that I saw the vision in the sky," Loran did not understand what the man had said about the images in the sky, it was of no importance to him and he would likely forget about it in two minutes, yet the words seemed to break the spell of silence that had been placed upon him.

"Well, I'm actually a clone of Rand they hope to use once he goes insane and they have to kill him- NO, I'M NOT THE DAMN DRAGON REBORN!" Loran was half surprised by the strength of his voice (he'd expected it to crack and warble, at best) and partly glad his irritation with the man had been evident in his tone. Of course, this may have been in part influenced by the unsettled feelings that occasionally filtered from Rand's end. However, the man just burst out laughing, disappointingly unaffected by Loran's words.

"I must be honest, I was not expecting such a reply," the man chuckled, "tell me, what is this_ clone_ of which you speak? Is it like a image made with saidin?" Loran's shoulders slumped as he gazed upon the spectacle in irritation. He was about to inquire as to whether the man truly believed he was Rand, when three men dressed in uniforms he vaguely recognized threw open the gilded doors and stepped into the room, eyeing the stranger warily. The stranger was once again straight faced and still, all evidence of the previous mirth gone from his body. The front-most soldier called to the man in a slightly wavering tone.

"Mazrim Taim. The Lord Dragon has allowed you an appearance," the man glanced at the guards, then back at his companion and suddenly went rigid, and Loran could not help but wonder why. He'd been so cocky a moment before- what could be so horrible about seeing Rand? He watched the soldiers escort the ma- this Mazrim Taim, out the doors and toward the courtyard, suddenly flanked by several more guards. The red-haired boy bounced nervously on the balls of his feet as he tried to work up the courage to leave his place by the desk. He should have felt relieved to be out of Mazrim Taim's presence; he should have just dropped the note and left.

Curiosity would not let him do that.

The note crumpled in his hand and he stuffed it in his pants pocket. He walked at a hesitantly slow pace and didn't reach the door of the throne room until after about a minute. He may have wanted to know what was going on, but enough of him disliked the thought of remaining around Taim any longer, so he compromised by putting his curiosity into action, albeit at an excruciatingly slow pace. This continued for about five minutes, Loran muttering to himself that he was _not _currently dying of boredom and anticipation all the short while. That all changed when blinding rage suddenly sent a feverish wave across his face. It did not take Loran any mentionable amount of time to figure out where that had come from, and he sprinted to the courtyard.

By the time Mazrim Taim's escort came into view, every soldier had their spears practically in between his ribs, the maidens looked as tense as stone could look besides, and Loran was awash in the flaming, white torrent of pure saidin. Taim was kneeling before Rand, who looked as if such an act had actually provoked his anger further. Taim handed something to Rand, a bundle of rags it seemed, and it was not until Rand suddenly raised the object into the air as if to smash it that Loran saw the object. It was a disk, possibly made out of some ceramic material, and its face very much resembled the red flag waving above them with its black and white circle and the curved line that dissected the two colors. This object was still held high, as Rand seemed to be in some sort of inner conflict as to whether he should break it or not. Loran, who had released saidin as soon as Rand had glared at him from his place in the courtyard's center, glanced back at the palace hallways from which he had sprinted. Not a soul was in sight, but he was certain he'd heard a voice. The words had been indiscernible and the voice itself like the echo of an echo, quite possibly imagined, but he was certain someone had spoken. Odd.

"I think perhaps you should wait before deciding to break it, eh?" Loran's attention was once again brought forward as the man he'd been told was called…Bashere?...yes, that was it- reached up in the motions of staying Rand's arm, a slightly hilarious feat considering his stature was undoubtedly lacking in comparison with Rand. Every eye in the courtyard was now on the Dragon Reborn, the expressions of the guards and Bashere implying that something might have been wrong. What Amis and the other Wise Ones had said about the taint and saidin reasserted itself at the front of Loran's mind, and he wondered briefly if Rand could already be suffering from the madness that he had for some reason escaped. It was strange that he had not thought of this earlier, but it had never occurred to him that Rand would also fall victim to this inevitable curse simply because, well, because he was _Rand_. He was one of the only people Loran could call a friend in this world and he was the _Dragon Reborn_, if that was anything worth noting. The injustice of the situation made Loran's chest tighten. If he was not even supposed to be in this world, how fair was it that he would get away completely unscathed? Furthermore, if he was actually stuck in a book, as unlikely and cliché as it was, what kind of author would give the main character such a horrible fate? But then, what if Rand wasn't the main character? In fact, what if he was the villain? Loran scowled and tightened his hands into fists. No, he was not going to think that way. Rand was a good person, as naïve as that sounded, and if he was truly stuck in a book, surely he would have felt some tug from 'reality', or rather, one of his friends would have noticed a change in the book's text at the very least. He forced the unhappy thoughts from his mind. Whatever was going on, this was real: real emotions, real powers, real people, and nothing short of being handed the exact book, chapter, and page number of what was currently happening would convince him otherwise.

A memory flickered through his thoughts, too fast to see or understand, and Loran nearly screamed out his frustration in front of everyone at the fact that he couldn't remember something that seemed so important. He was stopped from the outburst, however, by Rand calling him over. As he approached the group, he saw Mazrim Taim looking slightly confused and anxious, staring at him warily. In fact, now that he thought about it, the man had been trying to turn ever so slightly to look in his direction since he'd followed into the courtyard while channeling. Taim leaned toward him and whispered.

"Do you know anything of this…Farm? " Loran's eyes widened slightly as he shook his head. He'd never heard of any farm place, and if Rand was planning something he'd never said a word. Or perhaps, he _had_ but once again; Loran had not been paying attention. He turned to Rand, eyes slightly wide, head cocked to the side in confusion.

"Rand? What farm?" Of course, the Dragon Reborn knew by now that what Loran wanted to say was, '_Whaaat? What what? A farm? The hell?!'_ and as different as Loran's speech could be, the principle of the question was loud and clear: _'Why didn't you tell me?'_ Rand sighed, almost regretful.

"I would have told you sooner, but it was something I wanted to be sure would work before I let someone prone to accidents, like you, into the area," the whispered comment was meant to be serious, but the younger boy couldn't help but chuckle at the Dragon Reborn's accurate assessment of his quirks, "I wish to train other men like us, who can channel. It would be a definite advantage against the Dark One; maybe even the White Tower if it comes to it."

Loran had only heard bits and pieces about the White Tower, where women who could channel became Aes Sedai, like Egwene Sedai, and what he heard made him suspicious at best. Taim cut in between the two boys, his expression stony and his tone of voice indignant. Apparently, he did not enjoy being the odd one out.

"What farm? Where is it you mean to take me?" Rand stared at Taim suddenly realized whose conversation he had cut into, though he stared back at Rand defiantly. Loran winced, knowing that if _he_ could not act that way without some sort of revenge enacted upon him, no one else stood much of a chance against Rand's irritation. However, Rand merely turned aside and began channeling.

"I'm taking you where you can serve me," was the grim reply. The weave Loran had tried and failed to perfect was suddenly poking through the threads of reality, and a thin beam of light appeared as the 'portal' (for that was the only thing it could be to the outsider) opened. He likened it to when one was waiting for an elevator in a dark lobby and the light inside the vertical car cast a silhouette on its opening doors. He watched the Maidens creep through cautiously, always watching for danger, always protecting the car'a'carn. '_What was it like_,' Loran mused, '_to be held in such high respect that someone would practically volunteer themselves to be your meat-shield? How did Rand deal with woman, of all people, doing this?' _He jerked out of his reverie when he realized Rand was shoving him in the direction of the opening. He turned and swatted the older boy away, still moving toward the hole in reality as he half-heartedly scolded his companion.

"I can walk! You don't need to-" facing ahead, he was knocked back by the most painful glass wall in all of existence, or at least that's what it had felt like. He fell backwards, the force knocking the breath from him along a resounding "Shit!" His nose stung and he wavered slightly as he leapt up to once again attempt to pass through the opening, but to no avail. Some invisible force was keeping him from Traveling through the hole. He gave Rand a lop-sided grin.

"Well if you didn't really want me to go, you could have just told me," Rand looked more concerned that amused, but Loran dutifully ignored it, waving at him to "just go" while he put pressure on his throbbing nose with the other. A shout from behind them revealed Aviendha striding with purpose towards Rand. Loran groaned, and not because of the pain. He and the Aiel woman tolerated each other, but that was as far they were willing to interact. This did not help since Aviendha was almost always trailing behind Rand like a puppy, though Loran noticed he tried to avoid her at times, and she could never look at his 'advisor' without scowling or glaring. Loran had thought this was just an 'Aiel thing', but had quickly changed his mind as he'd become a somewhat welcomed addition to the Wise One's (and sometimes the Maiden's, though he was never playing that stupid game again) daily lives. No, it was just an 'Aviendha thing' and Loran suspected she was jealous of him getting a majority of the attention she'd most likely received before his unexpected arrival. That and perhaps she just didn't like the nickname he'd given her, but then again, 'not-quite-Wise-Woman' was not the most flattering alias. Some of the color drained from Rand's face and Loran knew that today was one of those 'let's see how long we can stay away from Aviendha' days. He released the hold on his nose and pushed Rand into the 'portal'.

" Well, have fun. Be sure to get me a souvenir, okay?"

"But-"

"Don't worry about me, I'll find some poor unsuspecting courtier to harass while you're gone."

"Wait I-"

"Just go!" Loran hissed and the opening snapped shut at the same time that Aviendha meant to walk through, carrying her forward a few paces before noticing she was still indeed in the palace courtyard. The brown-eyed boy smiled sheepishly at the not-quite-Wise Woman, vaguely aware of the warm tingle on his nose and lips.

"Guess we didn't quite make it," the redhead scowled, then curled a lip in disgust.

"Your nose is bleeding," was the terse reply, and she stomped away looking almost like a toddler throwing a fit. Almost. Loran brought his hand back to his face and noticed the semi-dried crimson stain on his fingers. He fervently hoped Rand didn't notice the blood on his coat where he'd been pushed. Then again, the coat was red anyway. Rushing inside to find some rags to stop the bleeding, he mentally ran through his list of things he could do seeing as Traveling anywhere was now out of the question. Deciding it would be best to follow through on his original agenda before Taim had interrupted him, he washed his face and hands in a basin used by those coming in from the dust and nature and set off toward the Aiel encampment. He had a problem that he hoped the Wise Ones could solve. If not, he wasn't sure he could face that apothecary again. Ingesting an unknown herb that some cross-eyed, old hag had the mind to shove under his nose was never an appealing choice.

--ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo--

Now that most of my finals are over, I can concentrate on working on this. The second half of chapter 6 was difficult to write for some reason, especially the first few paragraphs. I guess I just had to get back in the groove of writing -shrugs-. Here are a few things to consider:

-Some people might be offended about the part where Loran is accusing the author of basically being a 'bad person'. I'm NOT bashing Robert Jordan! He was an amazing writer…it's simply what I think a person stuck in that sort of situation would think about. And since Loran hasn't read the books, he doesn't know SPOILERSPOILERSPOILER (I went and spoiled the books for myself, or rather, my friend spoiled a part of it for me…ahem. I won't actually say it thought, eh-heh.)  
(now 'spoiler' looks odd…like when you say a certain word over and over again…and it starts to sound like it's not a real word…eh.)

-About all the b.s. about psychopaths at the beginning- I completely made that up, not because I didn't want to research it, but apparently Loran is not a psych major in the real world and thus wouldn't have his facts straight anyway (It's all about staying in character, right?)  
-If Mazrim Taim seems a bit ooc, I always saw him as the kind who is slightly sarcastic and a bit humorous but…maybe that's just me.  
-Because I see this far too often to be able to freely use parenthesis without deeming REM as bad!fic: When I use parenthesis in the story text, they are NOT author's notes. That's what this space down here is for.  
-I know how Robert Jordan explains the feeling of saidin and such, but the actual flow I always imagined as a torrent of white energy that also writhes like fire, and the taint is like an oily greenish-yellowish-black film over top of it. So that's how I describe it visually (though with Loran, minus the taint o.O)  
-I can't explain Traveling without thinking of an elevator… -.-  
-Sadly, Loran and Aviendha don't get along too well; but at least they don't go for each other's throats on sight. That might change later unless Loran does something stupid (though I'm not saying he will.) And I'm not trying to bash Aviendha with how I describe her, I'm just trying to be true to character, and all character's have quirks.  
-Yeah, he was finally tricked into playing Maiden's Kiss. Maybe I'll write a one-shot/side story about that…but only if enough people ask for it...

Yay! After this things will start picking up and we'll get to the more fun parts! (Like I promised…how many chapters ago?)

Here's the list so far of what we know about Loran:  
-He can use Saidin and it has no taint. He CANNOT use Saidar but he can sense it like a woman who channels can (I guess it's a bit like being Stilled.)  
-He and Rand share a link that sometimes communicates strong emotions or image-versions of thoughts. It can only be felt when the feeling is either very strong, the thought is about them personally, or the thought is directed towards the other intentionally.  
-He might be able to go into Tel'Aran'Rhiod  
-He CANNOT Travel, create a portal to Travel, nor use a portal created by someone else.  
-He and angreal/ter'angreal/sa'angreal act negatively when in contact with each other.

Thanks to **theamyrlinseat** for reviewing! Your comments are always very helpful in both keeping myself on track plot-wise and…it's just fun watching people speculate. :D


	8. Somnambulism

Summary: Finally! Chapter seven is up!

Disclaimer: I own my OC and the alternativeness of this plot. Everything else belongs to Robert Jordan.

Author's notes are at the end of the chapter.

-oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo-

CHAPTER SEVEN- Somnambulism

"I think I sleepwalk," the women lounging in a circle around the tent stared at Loran with varying reactions. Some looked perplexed, unsure of the significance the statement held to Loran; others leaned forward with interest, an eager but guarded expression on their faces. Amys and Bair were among the second group, and it was the white-haired Wise One who spoke first.

"Sleepwalk?"

"Yeah, yeah. You know; when you walked around while you're asleep…," Loran trailed off as he noticed the apprehensive expressions of the Wise Ones and shrank back a little, "People do sleepwalk here, right?"

"Of course they do," retorted a squinty-eyed Wise One, and several amused chuckles sounded from around the tent. Amys and Bair were the only ones whose faces remained stony, though the aged eyes of the latter held a spark of interest and eagerness. Loran suddenly felt that sleepwalking meant something very different to them than it had to him. It was at this moment that the two Wise Ones rose from their cushions and walked toward the tent's entrance. Either unnoticed or ignored by the others, no one made to stop them and the remaining women avidly focused their attention on Loran.

"Most people outgrow such a habit but not to worry, there are a few herbs that will make you sleep so heavily, your body won't even be able to move," a darkened, aging Wise One said suddenly appearing at Loran's side, patting his hand reassuringly. More women crowded around him, giving advice all at once so that their voices garbled together into a mass and only snippets of suggestions could be heard. At the tent opening, one voice came out atop of the cacophony, stating how much good it would do to have a wife to care for him. He broke free of the elderly Wise One's grasp and his enraged voice too became one with the noise. Suddenly, the rusty-haired boy found himself on his back end, in the dirt, outside the tent, a roar of laughter coming from within.

He was intent on giving his harassers a piece of his mind when he noticed Amys and Bair with another unknown Wise One speaking in front of an unfinished well. It looked as if they were having an argument. The unknown woman glanced his way and did a double take, pausing the others, and three sets of piercing eyes fixated themselves on him. It would have been very nice to turn and run the other direction. Loran knew that look from Amys. It always meant another experiment, another joke on his account, or just something bad for him in general. Unfortunately, he was approaching the three Aielwomen before he knew his legs had begun to move.

"You are coming with us," were Amys's only words to Loran as she ducked into a small tent separated from the group of Aiel homes by the half-dug well. The other two followed, ignoring Loran's sputtering protests and indignant gestures toward the tent he had just exited entirely.

"But you-! But I-! Did you hear-?!"

"In here! Now!" The command sounded odd and strangely removed from the white-haired woman's usual voice from behind the cloth walls. He balled his tan hands into fists and stared defiantly at the tent as if it were the source of his irritation.

"No!"

"Do not be a fool!" It happened so fast Loran almost did not realized he'd reacted at all. A single weave of saidar shot out from under the tent. It had been aimed at his legs, intent to drag him into obedience if need be. However, the weave of air was stopped a single pace from its intended target. He hadn't even been aware of making contact with saidin until he paused to look at the weave he had made. It was not a shield, or anything he'd ever seen similar to a barrier, for the weave of saidar did not bounce off or hit it; such would have been the normal effect of a barrier. His weave, made entire of air, consisted of threads stringing themselves through the Wise One's weave and forming a strange knot in the middle. He shifted slightly and was astounded to find not only had he trapped the other's weave, but he could direct it to some extent with the threads wound throughout it. The weave suddenly bucked, as if trying to free itself and he panicked, releasing the knot in the middle. He heard a cry of surprise as his actions caused the other weave to unravel as well, and he rushed toward the tent with a streak of worry jolting through his chest. Entering, he saw Amys picking herself off the ground, Bair and the other glaring at him wholeheartedly.

"I- I didn't mean to do that," he murmured.

"I am perfectly fine, don't sulk like that," Amys replied gruffly, dusting herself off. Loran dropped his sheepish expression at once.

"But why the hell did you do that?!"

"Because you don't know what's good for you- because you're more stubborn than even any Aielman I've known- because you requested our help and you better be _grateful_!" The brown-eyed boy had never seen Amys convey so much emotion before, much less shout- well, she _had_ shouted at him a lot, but she'd never been this grave- and, truthfully, it scared him a little. He lifted his hands, palms upward, in a gesture of sincerity.

"Do you really think what's wrong with me is that bad?"

"We're not sure," whispered Bair, her eyes bouncing from Amys to Loran warily. Amys inhaled deeply and relieved the young man of her searing gaze, moving towards the back of the tent. She pointed toward a pile of cushions and blankets.

"Sleep," she commanded, not facing anyone in the room. Loran's hands dropped to his side and he leaned forward, not sure he had heard correctly.

"Excuse me?"

"You say you sleep walk. The only way we can confirm what is wrong is for us to see it ourselves," spoke the unknown Wise Woman.

"Melaine," started Bair, glancing at the woman. Melaine shrugged defensively.

"He would have been told anyway. Not everyone feels the need for dramatics, Bair," Melaine took a corked bottle from a chest on the floor as well a jewel-rimmed, porcelain bowl filled with water. She yanked the cork out with her teeth and poured a small amount of some green substance into the water. Rolling her wrist twice to mix the contents, the Wise One pushed the bowl into Loran's hands and gruffly ordered him to drink. He glanced at Bair and Amys for confirmation or at least some kind of hint that this was a smart idea. There was no such reassurance the stony-faced duo. Bracing himself with a deep breath, he brought the bowl to his face and took and gulped down the concoction. For a moment, he felt nothing.

Then suddenly, everything was above him, rapidly fading into black.

--ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo--

Well that took long enough. It wasn't even half as long as I wanted it to beeee. The delay was caused by a mix of being lazy and actually being busy, but don't worry…this story is NOT on hiatus. In fact, I actually have the next three chapters planned out! Now just to figure out how I'll put it into words… -whew- I was going to make this longer, but got tired of not updating and thought that such a cliff hanger was good enough to wet your appetites once again.

More interaction between Amys and Loran. I love those two, always bickering. If I knew how to develop character relationships better I would do so but alas….hey, that's what this type of stuff is for right? Practice! (I just got done running a freshman orientation and I'm still in motivational mode, weee!) Is it obvious I didn't have my book for this chapter? I have no clue where it is!! (moving home for the summer frustrated!Bri is frustrated)

Here's the list so far of what we know about Loran:

-He can use Saidin and it has no taint. He CANNOT use Saidar but he can sense it like a woman who channels can (I guess it's a bit like being Stilled.)  
-He and Rand share a link that sometimes communicates strong emotions or image-versions of thoughts. It can only be felt when the feeling is either very strong, the thought is about them personally, or the thought is directed towards the other intentionally.  
-He might be able to go into Tel'Aran'Rhiod  
-He CANNOT Travel, create a portal to Travel, nor use a portal created by someone else.-He and angreal/ter'angreal/sa'angreal act negatively when in contact with each other.


	9. REM

Disclaimer: I own my OC and the alternativeness of this plot. Everything else belongs to Robert Jordan.

Author's notes are at the end of the chapter.

-oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo-

CHAPTER EIGHT- R.E.M.

It took less self-control than Rand had expected to hide his flinch at the look Sora Grady gave him as she herded her son away to the farmhouse. _A woman's eyes cut deeper than a knife_ was the saying in Two Rivers, and he was reminded that nothing any Aes Sedia, or Forsaken, or courtier could ever teach him could render his heart impervious to the faces filled with hurt, betrayal, and hopelessness that would soon look upon him as their loved ones passed away for the sake of a prophecy; even if he acted callous and unchanged- told himself countless times he _must be _callous and unchanged- it ate at him. With a grim air about him, Rand stepped through the gateway and into a tent decorated in rich, mind-boggling patterns of the Tairien style. Maidens stalked ahead of him, attentive to anything that might possibly harm the car'a'carn.

The camp of the eclectic, ever-divided army of Tairens and Cairhienins sprawled before and behind him and, somewhere amidst the chaos, Aiel too had laid down their encampment. If today's meeting was to be anything like those in the past, Rand knew he would be asked over and again by the army's collective leaders why they idled just short of the border of their targeted country: Tear. They were obediently, albeit impatiently, awaiting Mat Cauthon, who was by now a battle hero of almost legendary status, to lead the army forward into action. As much as Rand understood the others' desire for haste, he was becoming annoyed by such redundant complaints. This was another reason for irritation, as he had hoped to bring Loran with him in hopes that the younger man's unexplained presence would at least befuddle the nobles enough to give Rand the ability to steer conversation as he pleased. It had been a disheartening surprise when Loran wasn't able to pass through the gateway- something he would have to discuss with him later on.

His attention was redirected as he stepped out into heat that made Caemlyn seem refreshing and an Aielman, Roidan, leader of the Thunder Walkers, greeted him solemnly from his place guarding the usually empty tent.

"I see you, Rand al'Thor. May you find shade this day."

"I see you, Roidan. May you find shade this day," Rand replied formally, adding, "Is the High Lord Weiramon about?"

Upon receiving an affirmative answer, Rand began to steel himself against what he knew was going to be a very long, very stifling day.

ooOO00OOoo

Loran appeared once again, alone, in what seemed liked an eerie reflection of the living world. He stood and exited the tent. The environment of his dream was fairly unchanged, and he remembered how, for the first time during his last dream, he'd realized that the strange heat-wave motions of the air were actually people flickering in and out of the dreamscape. It was a disconcerting sight for sure, and he briefly wondered if therapy would be a good idea once he returned home…if he ever found a way home.

For a moment he considered staying put, but just thinking about waiting for the Wise Ones- if they even knew what do to about this…this problem- made him extremely bored. So he set off at once. He found himself at the edge of one of several walls that cut into the hilly ground like a set of stairs and realized at once where he'd brought himself in his mindless walking. In the royal gardens of Caemlyn, there was a portion that was tucked between a corner of the castle and the back of some random multistory building. The green hill seemed to move up the sides of the buildings as if holes had been dug out of the landform for the structures to be inserted, and levels of the hill had been sectioned into large steps with strips of red stone; by sitting on the terrace walls, Loran found that he could look over a good portion of the royal city. It was a good way to pass the time and an even better place to think. He'd tried to find the same hill once he'd woken up, and found that it was nearly humanly impossible to get to where he was, much less get back down. It was when he'd first learned how to slow his falls using saidin, though it had taken him nearly two hours of crying out for help and all in all looking like some pathetic wimp before he'd remembered that, unlike in his own world, he had special powers here.

"My world," he mumbled to himself. That was one thing he often thought about while sitting there. While it seemed more and more knowledge of his world slipped out of his mouth when he wasn't thinking on the issue, the more he consciously tried to remember himself, the more confused he became. Snippets of memories kept trying to force themselves together like misplaced pieces in a jigsaw puzzle, and there were times when he almost wondered if some of those memories were even real. He worried at his lip in thought. How long had he been here? Several months at least. Surely he had family and friends who wondered where he was, if his memories were real. They probably thought he was dead by now.

He groaned in frustration, propelling himself backwards so that he somersaulted onto a grassy part of the terracing, stood, and began pacing; his movements and posture revealed the anxiety he harbored behind his sincere goofiness. As much as he enjoyed being here without a care in the world, he could only cope for so long not knowing who he really was. He didn't even know if the way he acted was really himself, or simply a personality his mind had fabricated in response to the situation he was in. Someone in this world must know a theory on how to return to- well- wherever it was he came from. Someone must know why he could use saidin without being poisoned by the taint, and why he could see what only women who channel should be able to see.

Despite his desperation, there were two things that kept him from just up and leaving to find his answers. The first thing, or rather, person, was Rand. To be completely honest with himself, Loran had relatively few friends in this world. Sure, there were people that admired him, people that thought of him as someone interesting to observe, people that blatantly used him for nothing more than their entertainment- _One of these days, the Maidens'll see who gets the last laugh_, he digressed- and then there were people (a very large group of people, in fact) that absolutely despised him. But Rand was one out of a miniscule group of people with whom the boy interacted on a daily basis and with whom he shared a mutual liking. And to be completely honest, Rand probably would have never gotten through the day without his charge to keep him, at the very least, entertained; Loran quickly labeled that reason as more or less prideful delusion. Rand had also commanded him, requested of him, implored him- he could not think of the right verb- to stay and for reason, Loran had always been compelled to follow Rand's orders since he first arrived here.

The second thing was far less complex than the first: there didn't seem to be a way home at all. Nobody in this world seemed interested in what happened outside of their country, their city, their street. Those that did, well, they didn't seem right in the head to begin with anyway-

Movement on the far end of the garden caught Loran's attention. At first, he though it to be more of the strange flickering produced by the ether but instead of wavering out of existence, the figures continued to solidify, their features blurred at such a distance. It was his first time to ever encounter others in thi-…wherever this place was and he wasn't certain he felt like chatting at the moment. So he ignored them, looking anywhere but directly ahead in hopes that they might not notice him, or even if they did, that they would leave him alone.

"YOU STUPID- STUPID BOY!" Loran's heart seized in terror as Amys was suddenly leaning over him, face redder than was probably healthy, screaming for what was now the second time he had ever seen the woman act with so much emotion. He was hauled up by his shirt collar, the Wise Woman's grip making him gasp with a lack of oxygen.

"What did I do?" he sputtered, his voice obviously close to hysteria. While he didn't want to die in this world, he especially did not want to die in his sleep, and by the strength of Amys's grip, Loran could tell she was about ready to kill him.

"You never enter tel'aran'rhiod physically! _Never_! Do you have any idea how much danger you're putting yourself in?!"

"But I- what is- what are you talking about?!" The white haired woman's grip loosened slightly, but only so she could yank Loran around, making a sweeping gesture with her free hand at the gardens- and everything else- before them.

"This! This is tel'aran'rhiod: the world of dreams."

" It is entered during sleep," Bair explained, "though many only touch it for seconds before returning to their resting minds. Through great skill and caution, we enter tel'aran'rhiod in spirit-"

"But you! You entered it completely, which is extremely dangerous! You could have been killed, or worse!" Loran, who had been leaning further away from Amys with each scornful syllable, landed on the ground with a grunt as Amys released her death grip on him, crossing her arms and sighing in exasperation.

"Don't go yelling at me about something I don't understand! I never even knew that such a place existed until just now," the red-haired boy retorted, having regained some of his composure now that he was out of the direct line of Amys's wrath.

"Perhaps. But you should have told someone about this long ago if you had noticed something strange about your 'dreams'," Melaine replied sternly. Amys turned to Loran once again, her posture wary and rigid.

"How often has this occurred?"

" Uh-"

"Quickly! We may have time to reverse any permanent damage done to you if we know how long you have been exposed to this place."

"…since I first came here?"

The three women's eyes widened, their faces paled, and they all stepped away from Loran as if they'd been bitten. Loran felt a numbing sensation on his face as he too paled at their reaction. Was it really that bad? Could people really die here? And what was the 'worse' part Amys had referred to? What lay beneath the quiet surface of this dream world that snatched away the souls of unexpected sleepers? His breath quickened and his heart thudded loudly in his ears. He suddenly felt very alone and very exposed. For the past several months he'd been waking up here, never knowing that he might be in danger. It was like finding out that the nice store clerk you always bought coffee from was a serial killer…while you were the only one in his shop.

Then he noticed the Wise Ones were no longer staring at him, but above and beyond him. Their faces had become stony and grim, and they continued to back away from where he stood. That's when he heard it: a deep growl, like a sound that rose from the deepest, most desolate of crevices in the earth. Slowly, slowly, he turned and looked up. He wasn't sure what it was. It black, big, and it emanated a lust for blood that rooted Loran to his spot in fear. The monster was crouched almost directly over him, its skin writhing in a way reminiscent of insects climbing over each other, reeking with decay. It was peculiar in that it lacked any facial features, but it saw him all the same. He couldn't be sure, but he didn't think he was breathing anymore. Bair's quiet, even voice floated into his mind from somewhere he could not see.

"Loran…Loran. Listen to me. It isn't real. It's only there because your mind put it there. Believe it isn't real and you can destroy it." Loran would have loved to think that the ten-foot tall creature ready to disembowel him wasn't real, though he would have liked to be able to think at all. His mind was trapped in a dizzying circle of terror and helplessness, the fight-or-flight mechanism in his mind a broken loop as he couldn't think passed the personification of death in front of him.

"Loran!" This time it was Amys's voice, stern with urgency. It did not help, though; he could not move, though he was most likely trembling. _Maybe that's why everything's shaking_.

Suddenly a pinpoint of awareness formed in the back of his mind, shooting outward through the fog like a thousand lighthouses in a hurricane. A voice he knew so well struck the back of his mind with resounding clarity. And he found that he was able to do exactly what the voice said.

"Run!"

--ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo--

I know it's been such a long time since the last chapter, college is busier this semester than ever before, and even though that isn't much of an excuse, it's true. I'm trying to juggle free time between all the stuff I want to/said I would do, and every time I try to work on this, my brain just wouldn't connect with my fingers. I could have just BS'ed my way through, but I hate it when other authors do that so I tried to work on it only when I knew I was going to it justice. Next chapter will come up much sooner this time I promise!

It was kind of weird, while writing the last bit: I actually started feeling scared (not that what I wrote was actually scary or anything). I often end up feeling the emotion I'm trying to convey in a story or piece of art, though I've never really done anything with fear before. Maybe that's why it feels so odd…

Constructive Criticism is appreciated!


	10. Note

As much as I hate other authors when they do this, and as much as I am absolutely hating myself for this, I have to put this story on hiatus until January 2009. College (and life in general) is being a bitch, and while I DEFINITELY LOVE THIS STORY AND WANT TO FINISH IT, I have found that I work much better (and faster) if I can write the entire story to the end and then post it little by little. So, you can bet I will be working on it over Christmas break and expect to start seeing new chapters mid-January.

To everyone who has kept reading and cheering me on: THANK YOU SO MUCH! I'm sorry, and I feel like I've let you down for taking so long and then putting the story on hiatus. But trust me when I say that I'm doing this so I can really give my all in the story and not half-ass it. I want it to end up something that will make you love reading it, because you guys all deserve it!

Thank you for understanding, and I will see you all in January!

-Bri


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